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27.2.13

Total-e-Bound's Emergency Servicing Anthology in which I have a story, Roley's Wood, officially launches on March 4, and I couldn't be more excited. The antho features my story, which is a dark, Scottish murder mystery and other tasty tales from Serena Yates (a very funny story called, Please Doctor about a guy with a doctor fetish), Sara York's lusty Guatemalan jungle tale Love WithoutBorders, Elizabeth Coldwell's skydiving drama Down to Earth, H.L. Holston and Eleanor Bruce's naval medical tale Doctor, Doctor, and Noelle Keaton's ER romance, Trusting the ER Doctor's Heart.

I am one of those people fascinated by the macabre in everyday life, because it does exist. I like turning over the proverbial rock and finding what's underneath.

I took a trip to Europe with my brothers a few years ago after our cousin died of cancer. We decided we were going to spend two weeks without spouses, children, pets, and worries, and squabbled like kids over where we could go. My mind still spins thinking about the whirlwind trip we took through England, Scotland, Italy and France.

Scotland had been my choice and my brothers still like to grumble about the house I found on Crigslist. They will never let me forget it. Serena Yates may never let me forget the house I found for us in the rainforest of Hawaii for our vacation last year...but that's another story...

Just outside Edinburgh, was a place called Roley's Wood. At the time, it had been reclaimed from its lengthy period as a dumping ground. I almost made up for the crappy house with the landlady who made us, as my brothers liked to call it, "heart attack food for breakfast" by organizing a bike tour through the woods.

I loved the amazing birds, the romantic ponds and the huge Victorian buildings we rode past. I was tickled to discover these buildings had once been factories producing snuff!

Snuff!

Of course, ideas began to swim in my mind, but I'm a bit of a rebel and the tale that came to mind was no frothy romance with ladies swanning around sniffing snuff. No. Recently, I read of a woman murdered in a Scottish forest and followed the bizarre case diligently. And at last I found a way to entwine the woods that I loved and bring to life the work the working community of the towns edging Edinburgh. At least I hope I did.

I love my two protagonists, well, three, actually; there's Jack Hanrahan, a Los Angeles surgeon visiting Edinburgh with his best friend, Paul, a heart surgeon, and Paul's lover. The fact that Paul and Jack were once lovers makes things a little bit awkward - until Jack and Paul find a dying woman in Roley's Wood and try desperately to save her life.

Jack's life changes that fateful afternoon and a lot of it has to do with hunky procurator fiscal (public prosecutor), Brodie Shaw.

Love in
reality mostly sucks and marriages end in divorce (or should if the miserable
married folks know what’s good for them) and that’s why so many female readers
take refuge in the fantasy world of the romance novel.

Wait, what?

Now, I’m
the first to admit that I know of enough couples who tried and discovered for
them there was no happy end. For reasons that are as human as humanity itself,
they can’t make their relationship work. That’s one of the realities of life. Sometimes
it could have been differently, sometimes it couldn’t. It’s not what they tell
you in the happy-ever-afters, but that’s how it often is.

There’s
also that other reality, just as real and just as true. The reality, that tells
of couples who somehow along the way learn that being married -without or
without the certificates, because marriage, more than anything, is a state of
mind- has its own set of rules. Most of the happily long-time partnered people
I know aren’t exactly rich and Hollywood beautiful. I bet very few of them are
happy and in love all the time.

When my
wife went through more than one long, dark spells of depression, she seriously
offered me my freedom. I said thanks for the offer, but I rather stay if you
don’t mind. When I went through breast cancer treatment, she cooked the family
meals (and she never cooks, ever, for any reason and hasn’t done so for over 30
years) And together we faced the ugly realities when our children didn’t
develop quite as we’d hoped they would.

No, love
isn’t a miracle cure for depression, sometimes it’s boring old medication.
Cancer can sometimes be cured, but always at a price. Children can surprise you
in a way you never thought possible and one day you see both of them off to
university, only to learn (proud mum warning) that both of them are getting
better results than the majority of their fellow students.

I know for
sure that many romance readers and writers can tell a story that looks
remarkably like ours. Simply people who face life and make the best of what
they have.

The story
of real people, of real love is a continuing one. And I for one am curious what
happens next.

22.2.13

It's late morning and the house is a mess. The kids are arguing or, if it's a good morning, they are quietly studying, but breakfast dishes are still piled in the sink. A typical day in my household.

But today is different. Today I'll be going out solo for my once-in-a-blue-moon hair appointment.

I love going to my hairdresser. Her salon sits in the middle of downtown, and once I go through her door and cross the marble entrance, I'm transported to another place and time. Dark, bold colors decorate the walls and furniture. A koi pond, surrounded by lush greenery, sits to one side, complete with a steady waterfall. From the twenty-foot ceilings hang a few tapestries and the music pouring through the speakers can be as eclectic as her decorating and her style. One day I might hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Another day, Seal. Still another, instrumental New Age.

I am the only one in the building, it feels like, while a wait the few seconds it takes for her to come greet me. She steps around the separation wall: petite, beautiful, and always fun and stylish. Her name is Joanie, and she returns a bit of the woman to me I've lost through family life.

She always welcomes me with open arms and a brief catching up of what's going on with life, then by the time she sits me in the chair to wash my hair, she reminds me it's time to just relax. Talking ceases, for the most part. There is no push for idle chit-chat. We exchange a few words when we feel the need, but otherwise, our lips are silent.

Everytime I go in, I feel as though I should have dressed in heels and pearls, not my jeans and sneakers, but she never judges or makes me feel out of place. This is her world which she has welcomed me into. The part of the salon she claims as her space to work takes up nearly half of the building, and I can hear the voices of others, elsewhere in the building, but the sound is muted and does not interrupt or distract. In her area, it is just her and I - and her adorable little dog.

I trust her implicitly, and other than letting her know I want my hair shorter or long, I stay out of whatever she wants to do. She works my hair with a heavy hand. From the strong massage on my neck when she washes, to the tug and pull along my scalp when she's styling, there is no holding back with her. And I relish every second.

Before I know it, an hour has passed and I'm peaceful, content, and look great. We chat a few more minutes and part with a warm hug, and I always pause at the threshold before opening the door to leave.

She's my temporary sanctuary. I know when I open the door, the noise of the traffic and the rush of life will hit me full force. But now I can step back into this world revitalized, and ready once more to face every challenge awaiting me.

18.2.13

It's been very cold and as I go about my day hurrying from place to place I find that I slow down. Yeah I know crazy to slow down when it is so cold you can see your breath on the air. LOL. But I slow down because my mind is filled with ideas. As others rush by me to get out of the cold I stroll my thoughts on scene from my books. In my head I'm writing the next part of my book and the cold fades as the story takes over. The cold imaginings I have had on these cold days is filling my stories. I don't like winter but the ideas it is giving I'm loving. Keep warm! :)

16.2.13

I love my vampires, I know that they're a bit old hat now but I've always had a soft spot for these soulless monsters and enjoy playing with my own bunch of vampires. I am not known for being particularly dark in my work and although my Point Vamp books do have the odd bloody death in them, they are not full of stomach churning, blood soaked scenes. I just can't cope with them myself, I'm a bit of a wimp.

Neck nibbling at the Point, my Vampire club where I focus all my vampire tales is always a sensual thing. In Point Vamp sex and sucking go hand in hand. The key to my sexy stories is the fact that orgasmic blood is stronger and so only 10 seconds sucking is needed to sate the vampire, so no one dies, yay!

Literally Bitten is my latest release and although The Point hosts a bit of the action most of it happens in a book shop. My two main characters are virgins and both have an interesting secret that they're trying to keep from public consumption. You're going to be surprised when you find out where the vampires are in this one!

Here's the blurb:

Books brought them together, blood lust binds them, but can her puritanical father pull them apart?Lily loves fiction and has done since she was a child. It was her escape from the harsh reality of life being brought up by just her over-protective dad. Tom only ever reads textbooks, claiming that there’s enough to fascinate in this world and that he has no need to read about pretend places. But when he walks into Lily’s book shop he finds out they have a lot more in common than he first thought.When the young couple take a trip to the famous vampire and human bar, The Point, Lily gets a shock. Her estranged father is there as part of a Purity protest; he is violently opposed to her, Tom and anything that the cult calls unclean. Which is just about anything fun.Can Lily and Tom overcome these prejudices and their own inexperience to find love that will last forever?

And an Excerpt:

“Hi, can I help you?”“Erm, yes, I think
so.” The timid young man smiled, looked down at his shoes then back up again.“Brilliant, what book
are you looking for?”“I’m not sure,” he
continued, pawing the long strands of dark brown hair from his face. “I’m kind
of new to books.”“Ah, what kind of
story do you like to read, then?”“Well.” The guy’s
cheeks flushed bright pink and he bit his lip nervously. Lily found it rather
endearing. “I really don’t know. I’ve never read anything before. Well, not for
fun anyway. Just school books.”“Okay, no problem. So,
what kinds of films do you like?” It wasn’t a completely unusual thing to have
a person come in with no idea of what they’d like to read. However, generally
they’d have a specific genre in mind. It was rare to get quite this little
information from a customer. But Lily
found she could forgive him for his ignorance as his tall, lean good looks
seemed to be playing havoc with her insides. There was something about the
hesitant young man that appealed to her in a very animalistic way.“Well, I don’t like
war films, or those historical drama type ones,” he replied, “but that’s not
what you asked. Erm, I like action films. Heroes and villains and magic and
erm, stuff.”“Sounds like you’d
like the fantasy and sci-fi section. Follow me.” Lily stood and walked out from
behind the counter. She flushed as she noticed his gaze drop from her face to
her breasts then even lower. Clearing
her throat, she walked towards the back of the store. His stare seemed to burn
into her back and she strutted more to give him a good show. It wasn’t often
she received such direct admiration and it was incredibly intoxicating.“Okay, so here we go.
All the authors are in alphabetical order here.”“Right. Where do I
start?” He looked perplexed.“Well, I just like to
browse in hopes of finding something new and unexpected. But I can give you a
few recommendations if you like.”“Yes, please.” The
relief in his voice was evident. “I know it sounds silly but I’m feeling a tad
intimidated in here.”“No need for that. I
pride myself on the friendliness of my bookshop.”“Oh, it’s not you, not
really. I mean, you’re beautiful and that makes me all tongue-tied and anxious
but it’s the books. There’s so many and I don’t know where to start. I don’t
want to pick a dud one.”“Okay, well, here are
a few tips. Don’t just go on the front cover. Look at the blurb, the writing on
the back. That should give you some idea of what’s in there.” Lily reached up
to a shelf, gently brushing past his shoulder, and pulled down a book.She stood beside him
and turned the book over in her hands. “See? But sometimes even the blurb isn’t
enough so you need to just have a read of the first few pages, too. So just
find yourself a quiet corner and check out anything you like. I like browsers here.”“Anything I like?” He
arched a brow and placed a hand on
Lily’s arm, just above her elbow. She gulped, giggled and glanced down at the
tips of her slip-on shoes.“Well, within reason.
I don’t have a million quid or a private jet you can borrow.”“But will you give me
a kiss?”She looked up and met
his gaze. His eyes were vivid green and sparkled with bravado and anxiety. The
red tint to his cheeks showed that he was not as confident in his flirting as
he professed to be.“What do you think,
sir?” She rebounded his questions without twitching a muscle.“My name’s Thomas. You
can call me Tom.”“Okay, Tom. But my
question still stands. Do you think you can get kisses in a bookshop?”Lily tried really hard
not to wink or to smile. She loved watching the indecision flash across his
face. She could almost hear his thoughts while he scrabbled to work out whether
he should cut and run or push a little bit more.“I know it’s not what
you’d normally expect to get in a bookshop but I couldn’t resist asking. You
know, I’ve walked past this shop every weekday for years. Every time I’ve seen
you I’ve been bowled over by your beauty. Today was the first day I plucked up
enough courage to come in and talk to you.”“Really?” She couldn’t
help smiling. She was certain there wasn’t a woman alive who could resist such
a compliment from a young, attractive guy. She was finding herself swayed.“Really.” He bit his
bottom lip, tugged at the lapels of his worn denim jacket and shifted from foot
to foot. “But I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark. I didn’t mean to offend
you.”“Oh, Tom, I’m not
offended in the slightest. But if I’m giving you a kiss I want something in
return.”“What?”“Even more kisses.”
She moved forward and placed a hand in the centre of his chest. He looked up,
smiled hesitantly then moaned as Lily’s
lips hit his with the determination of a woman seduced.“That won’t be a
problem,” Tom gasped when he was allowed to come up for air. “Fuck, you taste
so good.”“Language.” She tutted
and playfully tapped his arse. “But thanks all the same.”Lily threw herself
into the new kiss with great passion.
She was aware in the back of her mind that the shop still had the open sign in
the window and someone could walk in at any moment but then it gave her more of
a thrill than it made her feel nervous. And she was so engrossed in the
positive, sexual emotions zinging through her that it was just the smallest
niggle that disappeared with every new kiss—it completely evaporated as he ran
his hands down to her hips and pulled her closer to him. She could feel his
excitement pushing against her through his pants and her black corduroy skirt.
She purposefully rubbed against him. Lily was a shy girl by nature but she knew
what she wanted and she wanted Tom. Her life might have been filled with people
and conversation and social interaction but it was all based around books and
work and was never particularly personal. She was lonely and had often craved
moments like these when two bodies came together so perfectly.And he had arisen, oh
boy had he. She was desperate to feel his cock. Even wondered what it would
feel like inside her. The fierce lust took her over and she was eager to give
in to it. Lily ran a hand down his hard chest. She fluttered her fingers lower
then she undid buttons until she could reach through to his flesh
beneath. His skin was cool, his chest lightly sprinkled with a few curling
hairs. Tom copied Lily’s action and his deft hand ran up under her T-shirt to
cup at her breasts through the sensible cotton of her workday bra. He squeezed
and moulded them gently, a moan of appreciation carrying from his lips to hers
via their impassioned kiss.Lily had moved on from
conscious thought and was just following her instincts. She was halfway through
opening his trousers before she even really realised it. But oh, did he feel good through just the
cotton barrier of his briefs, his hardness apparent and twitching underneath
her fingers. It was as if each new, bold step she took encouraged Tom to mirror
the action because as she inched her fingertips past the barrier of his
underwear elastic, one of his hands slipped down to her thigh and
insinuated itself under her skirt . Her
heart rate soared as his hesitant touch reached her knickers. She knew they
were wet and they became wetter when he pressed them closer to her crotch. She wished the barrier
was removed and, just like he had read her mind, he employed both hands to rid
her of the last obstacle between the core of her need and the relief of his
fingers on her flesh.

For more from Lily and Tom and to find out who the vampire is, check out Literally Bitten today. But don't worry, I promise it doesn't get gory, just sexy!

15.2.13

Romance…February is absolutely the month to indulge in our most
romantic side. Happily-ever-after. Passion unleashed. Taking a chance on love,
even if we’ve been hurt or disappointed in the past. Everyone deserves to love
and be loved, and certainly, sexual orientation has nothing to do with that. I loved
Jodie Foster’s recent speech at the Golden Globes awards. Not so much because she
publicly confirmed what everyone sorta knew already, but that she honored her
partner publicly. They’re not even necessarily still together as lovers, but
they are partners as a family, best friends and co-parents. There are so many
possibilities for love, and it can take on many different forms. Limiting
ourselves does not allow us to fulfill our complete potential as human beings.

If you do nothing else for this month of romance but allow
yourself to just let go and let love in – whatever form it takes – than you
will have had the most romantic experience possible.

Available now for download is part one in my new MM series, Uniform Encounters entitled Set Ablaze.
It tells the story of Fire Chief Eric, and how coming out after twenty years of
marriage has disrupted his family, and left him feeling that he will never have
love again. The young new firefighter in town, Tom, is running from a broken
relationship and his father’s hatred towards his sexuality. The following is an
excerpt from when the two men are finally trying to find the courage to express
their feelings for one another. And maybe take that chance.

Set Ablaze Excerpt

The summer
twilight was just abating into full darkness when Tom saw the headlights from
Eric’s Bronco shine through the curtains. Funny, he couldn’t care less if
anyone saw Eric coming into his room. He took one last look around to make sure
the place wasn’t too embarrassing, and went to open the door. Tom watched Eric
descend from the older SUV, the man’s muscles working and rippling as he held
on to the frame, and dropped to the ground.

God, those thighs are stunning. I’d
like to climb up one as though it were a tree trunk, and then wrap myself
around Eric’s waist, and hang on to his massive chest…

His cock
was back to life as if it hadn’t had any release in ages. What was the man
doing to him?

“Sorry to
call you so late. It’s just been a heck of a night.”

“No
problem, come on in.”

Tom was
shaking. Literally shaking. He had to admit to himself that, while he’d been
strongly attracted instantly to men and women before, he’d never had one affect
him this heavily. It was as though it was completely beyond his control, like
he was under some sort of bizarre spell.

Tom
indicated for Eric to sit on the couch, and had to control the urge to wince
when he sat in the exact same spot Reggie had been in not even two hours
before.

“I have a
couple beers left in the fridge. They’re not your brand, sorry.” Tom smiled at
Eric, noting how exhausted and sad the man looked. He would give anything to be
able to take him in his arms, stroke his gorgeous blond hair, to comfort him.

“That would
be great, actually. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?” Eric gave him a weak
smile.

Tom
grabbed the beers, and brought one over to Eric, careful not to sit too close
to him on the couch.

“You’re
not begging. I told you—any time.” Tom found he wasn’t able to look into Eric’s
face. Instead he made himself busy popping the bottle cap of his beer. “So,
things went bad down at the police station?”

Eric
groaned, and Tom looked at the pained expression on the man’s face, instantly
regretting he’d brought up the subject.

“Sorry, I
shouldn’t have…”

“No, no,
don’t apologise.” Eric looked right into Tom’s eyes. “I just don’t think I can
talk about it anymore tonight. I know, that’s supposed to be why I came here,
right?” Eric looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to keep looking at Tom. After
another long pause where Tom looked at his own hands, his beer, the ceiling,
Eric turned back to him. “I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I feel so
alone in all of this, in my life. For some odd reason, though, I feel as though
you get me somehow. I feel…a connection. Even though we only really talked for
those few moments back at Joe’s, I felt good again. It was as though I were
really interacting with someone. Oh God… I shouldn’t be telling you this…”

Tom
scooted forward, closer to Eric. “Don’t stop. I feel it too.”

Tom held
Eric’s gaze, his heart literally pounding so loud he was sure Eric could hear
it, and held his breath.

Could it be?

Eric put
his beer down on the coffee table, and took Tom’s from him. Without a word, he
leaned in, and placed his mouth sweetly on Tom’s lips.

11.2.13

Some days it seems like finding the time to write is like pulling teeth. It's just not there. Other times, especially when the story is really flying, then it's easy.

I'm in a period of the former. Well, sort of. I've got a couple of stories that are really going. I've got them down in my journals and it's just a matter of plunking them in the computer so I can edit and polish them up. But that's the issue. The time.

Someone told me recently, well, you're a writer. You don't do anything all day, so you should have plenty of time to write. I wish that was the case. Let me explain my Friday and you'll understand.

I took the tot to school, like I do every school day, and came home. Fine. Just sat down at the computer to work when the phone rings. I have to get tot from school. He wasn't sick, no. He'd broken off his front teeth.

Broken. Off. Teeth. ADULT teeth.

Now, my younger brother did the same thing, broken his front teeth, when he was like 7 or 8. I remember because he bled all over everywhere. So I'm thinking, okay, tot messed up his teeth, there will be blood. I hate blood. A lot. I grab DH and make him come along because, well, if there's blood, there's a good chance I'll pass out. We get tot, sure enough, he's messed up his teeth, but not awfully bad. He can still smile and look handsome. What happened? He's in the midst of a growth spurt and is clumsy. He tripped up the stairs.

But getting him from school meant we had to take him to the dentist, too. There's one in town who happens to be a nice guy and wasn't scary to tot so that worked out even better. We found out tot chipped one (it can be smoothed down and will give him character - not that he needs more, but it will) and the other was sheared in half horizontally. The good news? Nothing was knocked loose and no root damage. Phew! He'll need the tooth capped, but that's a lot better than a root canal or any of the other things that could have happened. He cut his lip when he tripped and the lip swelled pretty good. Dentist also suggested we keep him home and give tot tylenol to calm the swelling.

Now you'd think once I got him home, he'd be resting and just wanting to watch a movie. Nope. He was hungry, thirsty, wanted his blanket, wanted the movie changed, then fell asleep.

Needless to say, I got a whole lot of nothing accomplished.

But he's feeling better and acting like himself, so it's all worth it.

Has anyone else ever had one of these days where you can't get anything done? Tell me about it. I'd love to commiserate.

Felicity Black never quite understood love. She worked her assets to get what she wanted and didn’t care who got in the way. Until she met John. He saw past her superficial self to the woman inside. Death separated her from John before she could tell him how she truly felt. Now she’s got her chance...just not in the way she expected.

John wanted Felicity to haunt him. She had been the only woman to stir not only his heart but his soul as well. But the woman claiming to be his lost love can’t be her... Felicity was dead. He has to decide whether to trust his gut or walk away from a new start.

Can a second chance at a first impression lead to love or a lifetime of heartbreak?

Reader Advisory: This story contains an out-of-body experience, voyeurism, spanking, rough sex, masturbation, and a chance for love to strike twice.

I always dreamt of writing the stories in my head. Tall, dark, and handsome heroes are my favorites, as long as he has an independent woman keeping him in line. I earned a BA in education at Kent State University and currently hold a Masters in Education with Nova Southeastern University.

I love NASCAR, romance, books in general, Ohio farmland, dirt racing, and my menagerie of animals. I also write under the pen name of Megan Slayer.

9.2.13

I’m in a new position this month – I’m working on a sequel
to I Heard Your Voice. Parts of it
are fairly easy, but others required a lot of working out.

I’ve read plenty of sequels and novel series. Often they
will focus on different characters each time, which is nice and
straightforward. Those that follow a single character, in my reasding, have
usually been crime or mystery fiction. With romance it’s harder. Certainly in
the case of I Heard Your Voice the
couple got their happy ending – unsurprisingly – which means that I no longer
have a romantic build-up, unless I was to separate them and introduce a new
love interest. And I didn’t want to do that. I rather liked them together.

So I had no trouble coming up with a plotline, but how to
handle the romance?

Thank goodness for the suggestion made in the first story,
that sex on haunted ground enhances paranormal activity. So far Tamar hasn’t
needed that – she attracts spirits by singing. But in this story, she needs an
extra influx of power… and maybe boyfriend Jason will be ready and willing to
provide that?

8.2.13

Did you ever play that game where you were supposed to fall backwards and some was supposed to catch you? I was terrified of that game. And royally sucked at it. I just knew that the person behind me would drop me and I'd have a Charlie Brown attempting to kick the football moment. I prefer to catch myself or least place the soft landing gear myself. I have been hurt so many times by people I thought I could trust that trusting comes only with great trepidation. Then again, generally one does not make it to adulthood without bumps, bruises and whip marks of some kind. So what does it take for a strong-minded woman to give up control of her body? Everything.

I do not give up control - I give it away. When I am with my partner, in some situation, I give him control of my body because first, he is one of the very few people who has earned my trust. When I was a crying bundle of flesh curled up on my shower floor, scrubbing my body with pure rubbing alcohol to get the feel of a rapist's hands off of my skin, he helped me scrub. He didn't tell me to stop or that I was wrong. He helped me. When I was too frightened of any man to have any kind of sex, he held me and kissed the top of my head and waited almost six months until I was ready for intimacy of any sexual nature. He helped me to stand when all I wanted was to stay down. He is not the rock upon which I stand nor is he the crutch upon which I lean. He is the man who helps me become who I want to be and loves me despite (or perhaps because of) my many, many faults. I trust him with my life. I trust him to know what I need and, because I do, I give my body to him. He does not require this (although he certainly does not complain!) and would love me even if I did not off her free reign of my pussy, my anus, my ass, my tits, my mouth. He accepts me for who I am - a strong-willed, self-reliant, intelligent woman who does not NEED him, but WANTS him.

I derive my pleasure from his pleasure. When I can give him what he desires, I find pleasure. When he spanks me to tears and my ass is tender the whole next day, I know I have pleased him and this pleases me greatly. Every time I feel the effects of his hand I get wet, knowing my submission to him is based not on fear, but on love and trust and acceptance.

I make my own living and provide for my family. I hold several degrees of higher learning, am a published author, and admired woman. I have a retirement account, savings account and health insurance. I do not NEED a partner. I do not NEED anyone to take care of me. But do I WANT that? Oh yeah, I do. When I can stop being a provider, a writer, a mother, a daughter and be only his woman - that's when I can relax and be free.

I am submissive to him by my choice, not his command, and within that choice is peace.

5.2.13

I ask myself with the frequency of a heart beating, "Is that real?" or
"Is it really done that way?" or "Would a man--a gay man--really
react like that, let alone talk like that?" Sometimes I sidle up to a gay friend and demure, "Does it seem like that would...chafe?"

Often, in my head an image of the author forms,
fantasizing how her favorite football player would have his way with her in
bed--then she changes her name from Brenda to Brad, replacing her identity with
"his" as the taps away at her laptop keyboard.

So, about six months ago, I decided to write my own M/M
romance, with a twist: It would be a parody piece.

I took my cue from Washington's 14th Street bars, which teem
with Gen Y "bros" who chug forties, compare triceps and cat call the
stiletto-clad PR girls still wearing their gray office cardigans.

What if two of these "bros"--animelesque and
questionably heterosexual mannerisms and all--somehow realized they were in
love with one another...wanted to have sex with one another?

Hence, I wrote, with pen in hand and tongue in cheek.

I found my main characters talking like bros, behaving like
bros, even calling each other "bro" ad nauseum. Punching shoulders
and wearing boxers and chugging beers. I wasn't exploring the lives of two
strictly gay males, but straight males who continue to act "straight"
throughout the book. While writing, I imaged that most other M/M authors do the
same thing--they just don't realize it.

Sorry Bro, my
latest from Total E-Bound (debuting later this year), explores what happens
when two manly men fall in love. And while my initial intent was to produce a
parody piece, I found myself falling in love with M/M romance in the process.
And the finished product is as far from parody as you can imagine.

Now, to all you M/M authors out there: What do you think?

Take a look:

Still aching from the mistakes
and denials of his past, this ER nurse could heal anyone but himself…until now.

Handsome, athletic and intelligent, twenty-six-year-old Bryce should be
living the high life.

But he’s far from it.

After shunning his best baseball buddy in high school, dropping out of
medical school and fleeing New York to put down roots–if only shallow ones–in
New Orleans, Bryce is uncertain about both his past and his future. Working
long hours as a low-level nurse and confined by a sexless relationship with a
questionably devoted girlfriend, Bryce can’t shake the feeling that things
should be somehow better now he’s escaped the confusion and indecision of his
former life.

Yet when the ghost of Bryce’s high school past, the handsome and charismatic
Tim, shows up injured in the ER, Bryce’s already turbulent emotions engulf him
in a vortex of confusion and regret. Haunted by his own insensitivity towards
Tim eight years before, Bryce first finds comfort in the powerful arms of a
resident surgeon he barely knows, then gives Tim the explosive, cataclysmic
relief he had denied him in high school.

As Bryce comes to terms with his
sexuality and recognises his undeniable attraction to both men, he must decide,
once and for all, where his fidelity–and his desires–lie.

4.2.13

Too much Sex

No such thing -
says my husband. Ha ha. What a wit.
But when I'm writing, the balance of how much sex should be in the book is a
tricky one. I write erotic romances, I can't NOT have lots of sex in my stories
but there is nothing I dislike more than gratuitous sex. Well, there are things
I dislike more - like Brussels sprouts for example, but you know what I mean.

I've realised too that my plots aren't very sensual. My stories are about how XX
meets XY and maybe another XX gets involved but the plot is less about their
sexual exploits and more about the external forces that want to drive them
apart. So when someone tells me - my story worked without the sex, I'm really
happy.

I'm not a great reader of erotic romance - is that a surprise? Though I've
noticed more and more of the so-called straight romances have sexual scenes
that are just as highly charged and detailed as those in my books - there are
just less of them. And - hides head when I admit this - I skip those sexy
sections.

When
Pia goes into a hotel bedroom looking for a night of stringless sex, she gets
more than she bargained for.

Pia’s
life needs a kick start. She’s tired of going home to an empty flat, killing
plants and fed up with her job. She hasn’t been held in a guy’s arms for far
too long. If men can do sex just for fun, why can’t she? But as she makes the
trek to a hotel bedroom she’s fraught with indecision. It’s a minor miracle
that she manages to pluck up the guts to open the door and slink into the room.
That miracle becomes so much more than minor once she crawls into bed and gets
the shock of her life.

Connor
and Espen want a third person in their lives but don’t seem to be having much
luck finding the right lover until Pia comes along, but when she’s gone in the
morning, they don’t know what they’ve done wrong and if they don’t know that,
how can they put it right?

2.2.13

I swear like a sailor and it’s something of a source of pride for me. I could pretend that it’s an “American Thing” – the First Amendment protecting the right to free speech and all, but truth be told, it is much more personal than that. For me exclaiming, “Shit!” is a liberating experience – a shucking off of the bonds of repression.

I grew up being taught that salty language was reserved for the weak-minded. My father was a stickler for “The King’s English.” Double negatives and pedestrian words like “ain’t” would make him go red in the face. Discussions of the natural – including sex and bodily functions –simply were not conducted in polite company. We did not sweat. We perspired.

One of my earliest memories was petitioning my father – when I was just six years old – for permission to use the words “crap,” “darn” and “heck.” It was a big deal for me. Even then I fought to express myself with all of the weapons in the English language arsenal.

His rigid standards regarding verbal expression were (thankfully) tempered by my mother. She grew up in the inner city, a step above poor and became an unapologetic hippie with a delightfully loose interpretation of “proper.” If one of us had any sort of ailment, Mom’s first question/prescription was, “Did you poop?” It’s mere asking would cause my father to go apoplectic.

In my former life as a stand-up comic, my act was strictly PG (PG-13 if I’d had a cocktail before my set). I didn’t fault my fellow comedians for peppering their acts with F-bombs, it simply wasn’t my thing. In fact, I once wrote an article for a comedy industry magazine titled, “Working Clean vs. Working Blue.” The thrust of the piece was that if a comic didn’t feel comfortable using curse words, it should be avoided at all costs as that unease would be translated to the audience. Way back when, I didn’t feel comfortable using such language.

And then I was introduced to the wild and wonderful world of erotic romance. Before I wrote fiction I was a freelance journalist and any word that didn’t appear in Webster’s Dictionary was not welcomed in the newspapers and magazines I wrote for. But, under the cloak of darkness, I began penning a novel. I did it as a part of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) an annual event in which writers are challenged to complete the first draft – 50,000 words – of a novel in the 30 days of November. I completed the challenge and had the bones of a damn good story. However, the byproduct of writing under pressure was that I wrote with complete abandon. I didn’t self-edit. I didn’t worry about anything but getting my 1,666 words-a-day committed to paper (or computer hard drive, as it were).

As I read back over my fledgling romance novel, I was shocked – SHOCKED I tell you – at the intimate scenes I’d written about my hero and heroine. The pages were peppered with references to throbbing cocks and juicy pussies and God knows what else. Well, thought I, There certainly is no market for this kind of unmitigated filth!

And then one afternoon I received in the mail the latest issue of “O – the Oprah Magazine” and found in the back pages an advertisement for an erotic romance publisher. What’s this? I wondered and dashed away to my computer to type in the web address. Several mind-expanding hours later I’d visited the sites of some of the finest smut peddlers on the Internet. It felt like coming home.

The very next day I began penning my first erotic romance novel, “Mr. Fix It.” I worked at night, after coming home from my fulltime job, and before long had a completed manuscript. Soon after completion, my erotic romantic comedy was under contract with Total-e-Bound Publishing.

Today I write romance fulltime and I have just completed my sixth novella – Book 3 in my Paranormal Erotic Romance series GHOST ENCOUNTERS with Total-e-Bound. I will be eternally grateful to TEB for taking a chance on a formerly-repressed journalist and allowing me release my inner slut – along with my vocabulary of gloriously naughty words.

As for going back to drudgery of polite conversation and the 9-to-5 grind? I say, “Fuck that!”